


The Chronicles of the Wanderer

by Skyblade55



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fantasy, Skyblade55, Skyrim - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:52:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6680974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyblade55/pseuds/Skyblade55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of the fated hero, the one who will save the land of Skyrim from the bane of the dragons. He who wanders will save all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_thum_

          The town of Whiterun was a quiet little town. Once an exciting destination on the map of the land, it now is one of the few peaceful places in the realm, a rarity given the tensions amongst the people. With the return of the dragons, many were in fear of an attack on Whiterun. One of the first attacks since the dragons’ return occurred near Whiterun, and although there had not been an attack on Whiterun itself, the people were in fear.

_thum_

          Fog had rolled in on one particular morning, thicker than it normally did. The soldiers on watch duty along the town’s wall had more difficulty seeing out than usual, but they saw well enough. Each soldier was prepared to give their life in service of the Jarl, and each feared the day they would have to do so. One soldier in particular looked out to the west on this morning and saw a shape in the sky he did not recognize. Not at first, anyways. But once he did, his eyes filled with fear, and his voice became shaky.

          “Sound the alarm!”

_thum_

          The local inn still held one or two drunken customers, whom the innkeeper kept an eye on. Sure, he shouldn’t be supplying them with this much drink, but they were willing to pay, and he needed the money. The inn itself was close to the wall, so soldiers would often come in for a bite to eat and a mug of ale to drink. It was being so close to the wall that may have saved the inn on this morning.

          “Sound the alarm!”

          When the innkeeper heard this, he knew only two things: the town was under attack, and he needed to get everyone he could to safety.

          “Quick you two! Into the cellar! Hurry now!”

          The innkeeper’s deep, burly voice reached the drunken men, and they staggered to their feet to flee to the cellar. Once they made it down, the innkeeper closed the door and prayed to Talos that the inn would survive this battle.

_thum_

_thum_

          The Jarl of Whiterun sent out the order to all of his men to prepare for attack from a dragon. The men had little training in dragon fighting, but such a matter was trivial at the moment. They had to defend Whiterun, and they had to do it now.

_Thum_

          “Close the gates!”

          “Archers ready!”

          The town’s mage offered no help now. He was not a combat mage, and knew know spells with which to do battle like this. He knew a great deal about enchantments, illusionment, spells to fool the enemy and enhance the capabilities of the soldiers.

          Such spells would be of no effect against a dragon.

_Thum_

_Thum_

          The town was in a frenzy now, as they heard the dragon’s wings beat against the sky, the sound of which grew ever closer and louder. Vendors fled to their homes, children screamed as they were ushered away by their parents. A few old religious fanatics in the town found no need to hide and find shelter from the coming dragon. They felt a much stronger need to pray to their god Talos, whose shrine stood near the village garden. Their prayers, to some, seemed to fall on deaf ears.

_Thum_

          A lone rider was racing towards Whiterun, his horse galloping as fast as it could. His bow of ancient elven make was drawn and an arrow nocked and ready. The electricity arcing through the bow, enchanted by the rider himself, tingled in his hand, aching to be let loose. The sword at his side was also of Elven make, enchanted to set fire to his enemies who dared attack him. His armor, however, was of dwarven make, some of the toughest in the land, riddled with enchantments. All of it hand-forged by the rider himself, based off of old art depicting the ancient Dwemer warriors of old. If anyone had seen the rider approaching they would be filled with hope of living tomorrow.

          But their attention was drawn elsewhere.

_THUM_

_THUM_

          Fear held the soldiers on the wall captive, wrapped around them much like the fog enveloped the town. They all held their breath, waiting for the archers to let loose their arrows at the approaching beast.

_THUM_

_THUM_

          The fog began to warp, to part to make room for the dragon.

_THUM_

          The dragon was in view now, its green, scaly hide glinting in the faint sunlight, the fins on its back imposing a further sense of dread on the soldiers. Its face was scarred, as though a bolt of lightning ran straight across it. The soldiers knew their fates would soon be sealed.

_ROOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR_

          “Fire!”

          With that order, a volley of arrows flew towards the dragon. They proved ineffective, as the dragon’s fiery breath roasted the arrows before any of them reached their target. The dragon then breathed fire towards the soldiers, setting quite a few of them on fire. Those not set ablaze were filled with panic, some of them fleeing, others cowering beneath their shield. Only a few of them, the more seasoned fighters, held their ground. One captain tried to save as many of his men as he could from the panic.

          “Get back on your feet! We must defend the town!”

          “But sir, it’s a dragon! What chance do we have against such a demon?”

          “As much a chance as we have. Now come on!”

          And with that, the captain charged the dragon, battleaxe drawn, frost coating the blade. This battleaxe itself was enchanted by the mage of Whiterun to deal ice damage to its targets, slowing them down. As he lept into the air, he said a silent prayer to Talos that he might live this day, that his town might be protected.

          Talos answered his prayers.

          The battleaxe barely left a scratch on the dragon, but it was enough to draw its attention away from the town. The landing from the leap was less kind. The captain’s legs were surely injured, most likely broken, and the dragon’s eyes were trained on him. The dragon deemed this lone soldier unworthy of dying by fire. No, this one was worth a physical death from its own jaws. The dragon closed in, lowering itself closer and closer to the soldier, savoring every moment of seeing the terror in his eyes. Eagerly anticipating the taste of his blood, the feeling of a screaming man dying in its jaws.

          That moment never came.

          The dragon felt a piercing sting on its neck followed by a sudden impact on the side of its face, and its head whipped to the side from the force. It soon felt two slashes on its leg, followed by a slash on its ribs. Suddenly, the dragon felt a pair of feet running on the back of its neck, then splitting pain behind its ear. And then it stopped feeling at all.

          The captain looked in awe at the warrior who stood atop the body of the slain dragon. Suddenly, the dragon’s skin started...floating away, burning in the air. A stream of...something collected around the dragon and flew into the warrior. All that remained of the dragon was its skeleton, a collection of bones that would surely leave any passerby in awe.

          The warrior strode over to the captain, as he was still lying on the ground.

          “Are you injured?” The captain could only nod his head in affirmation. “What hurts?”

          “It’s my legs.”

          The warrior’s hands started glowing gold, and their warmth radiated towards the captain’s legs. He couldn’t feel his legs. No pain, no movement, nothing.

          “Give them a few minutes before you try to walk. Let the magic set.”

          The captain nodded to show he understood the warrior’s instructions, realizing that this battle-hardened warrior in ancient armor who had just slain a dragon was also a mage, skilled in healing. There were legends of this man, but he thought they were just that, legends. He was now proven wrong.

          When the Jarl heard of what had happened at the wall in regards to the dragon he immediately sent for the warrior, knowing exactly who he was, but not why he was here. And he needed to be sure of the warrior’s intentions, so as to protect his people from a threat worse than a dragon.

          The warrior was walking around the wall, checking on the soldiers, seeing if anyone needed help. He also made sure that those who died in this attack received a proper burial, out of respect. He felt a sense of guilt for this attack, as he blamed himself for the dragon’s arrival. If only he had caught it before, back towards the nest…

           “Sir, I have a message from the Jarl.”

           The warrior turned towards the voice, seeing a young man dressed in light armor, cheaply made out of leather and iron. He did not sport the blue surcoat of the army of Whiterun, but he still had the sigil of the Jarl’s house on his soldier, and the sword at his hip seemed of legitimate make.

           “Speak it.”

           “The Jarl requests your presence in his hall. Now.”

          The warrior let out a heavy sigh. He dreaded the conversation that was about to ensue. He did not want to deal with the Jarl right now, but he had no choice. If he refused, further violence would erupt, and today had enough bloodshed already.

          “Very well. I will go see him now.”

          As the warrior entered the Great Hall, he noticed how few people were inside. A woman sweeping the floor to his right, a couple people eating at the table, a few soldiers for security, and the Jarl himself, lounging on his oaken throne.

          “Why are you here?”

          The question, directed towards the warrior, was laced with anger and bitterness. A tone not exactly appreciated, but the warrior was helpless to request anything else.

          “I was tracking the dragon. It came here. I’m sorry for the damage it did.”

          “It wrecked a whole section of the wall, decimated a quarter of the garrison, and all you can say is sorry? You’re the one who’s supposed to slay these dragons before they attack any village!”

          “With respect, sir, I have no control over dragons. Nor can I travel as fast as a dragon. Nor can I be everywhere at once. There are many dragons across the land now, and I can’t fight every single dragon before they attack a settlement. Now, I tried to slay this dragon back when it was flying over the skies between Markarth and Solitude, but it managed to escape from me. So for this attack, I can say I’m sorry, and I already took care of the wounded.”

          “You let this dragon escape? Are you not an accomplished archer? Warrior of all skills, master of all weapons, Archmage of Winterhold? How could you, for all your skills and talents, let the dragon escape?”

          “Balgruuf, even I fail sometimes!”

          “Do not address me like that! I am the Jarl here, and I will be respected in my own hold!”

          The Jarl’s rage had finally burst, spilling over and leaving the hall in a stunned silence. None had ever seen him become so furious, and none had seen such a legendary figure as the recipient of Balgruuf’s anger.

          “I apologize Garrett. I should not have lost my temper over such a trivial matter as titles.”

          Garrett bowed his head in respect. “With respect, Jarl, I too got a bit out of hand. I promise to bring no trouble to Whiterun. I consider this place a home, as you know.”

          “Aye. But how long will you stay? You leave soon after you arrive anywhere.”

          “I often have business throughout Skyrim. You know this.”

          “Aye, but surely you can stay here for some time? You were in Winterhold for two years.”

          “I was with the College, learning various spells, gaining magical strength.”

          “Right. Well, can’t you at least stay for a week? Help rebuild?”

          “I won’t help you rebuild any more than I already have. However, I will stay for at least a few days. I do have business here that I need to take care of.”

          The Jarl nodded his head in approval. “Good. I trust you have coin for the inn?”

          “No need. I bought that house near the forge, remember?”

          “Ah, yes, right. It’s been so long since you were last here I forgot who owned it.”

          As the Jarl leaned back into his throne having dismissed Garrett from his hall, Garrett walked away, saying goodbye to the servant still sweeping the floor. As he stepped outside into the bright daylight, he looked out upon Whiterun. It wasn’t the grandest town in Skyrim, surely, but it was still a very nice place. Its people had a life to them and a sense of honor that very few other towns could claim.

          Which made it all the sadder when he thought about how soon he would leave the town he called home.


	2. A Voice in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett is summoned by the Greybeards. This is the tale of his journey to meet them.

          As Garrett walked through Whiterun, he saw many things that brought a feeling of satisfaction to him. People were in the marketplace, checking to make sure their friends were safe. Soldiers buying a piece of food or a trinket from vendors to try and cheer up their friends. A few men were heading towards the inn, probably looking for a tankard of mead to help them recover from the terror of a dragon attack. He was glad to see the town still had some life in it. Dragon attacks had the potential to suck all of the life out of a town, but Whiterun seemed to hold onto its energy and life. Few other towns could claim the same.

           Garrett had one destination in mind as he walked through the winding streets, and it wasn’t his own home. Rather, he wanted to speak to one of his closest friends, and a mentor to him. And the only place to find them was the forge, a place where Garrett often found peace in his life. A rare commodity, given the times.

          The door to the shop opened, and the man behind the counter had a surprised look on his face when Garrett walked in.

          “Adrianne, you’d better take this customer!” the man called out to his wife. The slight smile on Garrett’s face betrayed his calm, serious demeanor. You could see the the excitement in that smile.

          “Who could be so important that you can’t handle it?” Adrianne asked as she entered the shop through the back door. Her attitude changed as soon as she saw who the customer was.

          “Garrett! By the gods, I...I thought you were dead! You’re alive!” she exclaimed as she quickly embraced the armor-clad warrior, “Last I heard you were going to explore a mine north of Markarth. That was nearly a year ago, and you never sent a message since, so I had assumed you died.”

          Garrett let a little chuckle loose from his mouth. “What, do the bards not sing any of the songs of the College? Nor the Song of the Dragonslayer?”

          “They do, but your name is never mentioned in those songs. I assumed they were of some other heroes. What brings you to Whiterun? Was it the dragon?”

          “Yes, it was the dragon. He was quite a nasty beast.”

          “I’m sure, they all must be. Big, winged, fire-breathing monsters. Very powerful creatures of old, bringers of chaos, a sign the world is ending, and all that.”

          Garrett knew she didn’t believe all of the old legends, and he knew that she should. But that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was that he was seeing his old friend again.

          “Am I still free to use the forge? I have a few items that I need to make, plus some maintenance on my gear.”

          “Yes, of course! The forge is yours! Oh, would you like to join us for dinner? A celebration of sorts that you’re still alive.”

          “I’d like that. Thank you Adrianne.”

          Garrett then walked outside to the forge right next to the shop. It was a nice forge, nothing extravagant but perfectly sufficient for any metalworker. Garrett began to work on forging his moonstone and ebony ingots. He needed a new shield and a couple of weapons. The elves certainly knew how to make weapons. After a few hours at the forge, Garrett held his new shield and his new battleaxe. The two-handed weapon was powerful, elegant, and ready to be enchanted. He had a spare moonstone ingot leftover, and forged a dagger from it. He didn’t know when he would need it, but he knew that a good dagger could not go unappreciated.

          After finishing his work, he went back inside the shop, and then upstairs to the dinner table. It was set with plenty of meat, vegetables, and ale. A delicious feast for those who are not royals. Adrianne spent a pretty penny for the meat, and broke open a fresh keg of ale. The rest of the meal was whatever could be found in her storehouse. Scrapped together on short notice, the early night proved a merry night for all present.

          A merry night, that is, until there came a knock at the door.

_ Thunk Thunk Thunk _

          “Who could that be?”

          “Easy Ulfberth,” Adrianne eased her husband, “probably just some soldier desperate for a weapon or a repair or something.”

          As she opened the door, she saw not a soldier, but a man in robes.

          “Pardon me, but is Garrett here? I have a message for him, and was told I could find him here,” the man asked.

          “Who are you, exactly?” Adrianne asked with an eye of suspicion.

          “I am a messenger for the Greybeards.”

          Saying he was a messenger for the Greybeards cast all suspicion from Adrianne. Even she knew who the Greybeards were, and the significance of this messenger’s arrival. 

          “Garrett, you should get down here!”

          As Garrett walked down, wondering who could be needing him at this hour, and how they knew he was here.

          “What is it?”

          “Sir Garrett, I am here to deliver a message.”

          “Well, speak it.”

          “Sir, you have been summoned to High Hrothgar, the sanctum of the Greybeards, at the peak of the Throat of the World.”

          Garrett was stunned.  _ Why would those old monks need me? _ he wondered to himself.

          “When do they want me to arrive?” he asked the messenger.

          “Immediately.”

          Garrett took a moment to ponder this. The Greybeards had not summoned anyone for decades, and they were shrouded in mysticism. They were legendary figures of mysterious power, much like the dragons. No one could ignore what they had to say, for they rarely spoke to the world.

          “Give me some time to prepare. It’s a long journey to the top of any mountain, let alone the Throat of the World,” Garrett told the messenger. “You may return to your masters with the news that I am on my way.”

          “As you say, sir,” the messenger replied with a bow, and then he left. 

          Adrianne closed the door behind him and turned to face Garrett. “Can’t you delay your trip at all? Whiterun could use your help right now. The wall needs to be rebuilt, and I’ve heard rumors of a lycan attacking the village at night.”

          “I cannot ignore the Greybeards, you know this,” Garrett replied, “I can’t stay and help solve all of your problems. That would lessen the value you place in each other. You are all strong, and don’t need me to solve your problems. I have heard nothing of lycans in Whiterun, but I’ll keep my ears open for any word of lycans in Skyrim. I have a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it. I plan on arriving at the base of the Throat of the World by sundown tomorrow.” 

          Adrianne let out a sigh. “When do you leave, then?”

          “By midmorning.”

          “Why, that leaves hardly any time to buy food!”

          “Which is why that is the last item I’ll pack. First, I have business at Dragonsreach.”

          Adrianne raised an eyebrow at this. “What business could you have there at this hour?”

          “I must enchant my newly forged equipment, as well as inform the Jarl of my departure.”

          With that, Garrett left Adrianne’s home, hurrying to the Jarl’s hold. Adrianne called out to her husband as soon as Garrett was out of earshot.

          “Ulfberth! I need you at the forge!”

          Adrianne had to get to work quickly if she wanted to sleep at all.

          Garrett ran to Dragonsreach, the house of the Jarl with a sense of urgency. He dreaded what he was about to tell Balgruuf, especially given what he had just promised that morning. But the Greybeards tend to overrule such obligations as promises when they summon someone to their sanctum.

           As he opened the great doors of Dragonsreach, Garrett smelled the scent of roasted meat, which surprised him. He had assumed the Jarl would have already eaten, given the time of night.

          “Ah, Dragonslayer! What brings you to my hall?” Jarl Balgruuf asked of Garrett.

          “Jarl, I am here to inform you that I must leave tomorrow morning.”

          The Jarl’s eyes took on an enraged glint as he asked, “What? You gave your word that you would stay for a few days! What is so important so as to cause you to go back on your word?”

          “Sir, I have been summoned by the Greybeards.”

          Balgruuf stroked his beard in thought, contemplating the news. The fire crackled in the fireplace, but other than that, the great hall was silent. Finally, Balgruuf spoke.

          “What do you need to prepare before you leave?”

          “I need to use your enchanting table, and pack other supplies.”

          Balgruuf gestured to the doors to his left. “The table is right in there, along with an alchemy table. Take as much time as you need.”

          With that, Garrett walked into the little side room, cluttered with magic artifacts, tools, and gems. He walked over to the enchanting table, a wooden table with blue glyphs on it used to channel magical energy into an item, be it a ring, shield, armor, or blade. As he set his new battleaxe on the table, he fished a Great Soul Gem from his belt pouch. Soul gems are used to hold the souls of creatures or spirits, and those souls are the medium through which magical energy is channeled into an item. Once a spell is spoken and the gem placed on the table next to the item, the soul will enter the item and grant it the power of the spell spoken. It is a quick affair, painless for the enchanter. The souls have no consciousness when they are bound to a soul gem, they are simply energy. As Garrett spoke aloud a fire spell, the soul’s energy flowed into the battleaxe, and the sound a fire makes when it crackles was heard. Garrett took out another soul gem, and gave his new shield an enchantment to strengthen its resistance to magical attacks. He had no soul gems left to enchant his new elven dagger, but Garrett had more pressing concerns at the moment. Whether or not the dagger would be able to shock his targets was rather low on his list of priorities.

          Garrett finished his business quickly and left Dragonsreach soon after, bidding the Jarl goodbye. As he walked through the streets towards his home, he reflected on all that had happened in recent years. The return of the dragons, the war between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, the business with the Eye of Magnus...it was all crazy to think that he had a part to play in all of these events, and there would probably be more to come before he met the warriors of old in Sovngarde.

          He came upon his house and unlocked the front door, feeling the comforting sense of being home. The house was dark, and smelled of dust, but it felt like home. Garrett didn’t care how it smelled. He only cared about how the bed would feel.

          To his satisfaction, the bed felt just fine, much better than the bedrolls he was used to sleeping in. He slept soundly that night for just a few hours, not even dreaming but simply feeling at ease.

          Garrett awoke a few minutes before the first vendors would open. He quickly gathered all of the weapons he would be bringing with him on his journey, put on his suit of armor, and went out into the town. The town was lit by the first few rays of the sun in the morning, the dawn bringing a pink hue to the sky. The market brought many smells of delicacies, but Garrett only wanted a few simple foods, foods that would last in a saddlebag. Salted meats, bread, and maybe some fruit would be all he needed. Thankfully, the vendors he needed to see all decided to set up early, and so Garrett bought the food he would need. 

          Garrett spent the next hour planning the trip, observing a map of Skyrim to plot his course. He found the quickest way to ride to the Throat of the World from Whiterun, and he estimated that the journey would take a few days. He moved next to pack the bags, making sure to securely pack the food in a manner that wouldn’t damage it. Heading towards the city’s gates, where the stables were located, he was stopped by a fortunate sight.

          “Garrett, wait!’ Adrianne called out as she ran towards him. “I made something for you. Crafted from the finest gold I could find.” She then placed a golden ring on his finger. “It’s fitted to go over your armor, and enchanted to give you more life. Should come in handy on your journeys.”

          The two friends then embraced, not knowing when, of if, they would see each other again.

          “Thank you Adrianne. Take care of the forge while I’m gone.”

          And with that, the Dragonslayer left the town of Whiterun. He went to the stables, just outside the town, to retrieve his horse, Twister. Mounting him in a deft maneuver that showed expertise at riding, Garrett rode off from the town, galloping at a swift speed. 

          Riding across the land, he was reminded of the beauty of Skyrim. The vast grasslands, wooded areas, and snow-covered mountains all had a sense of wonder to them. Anything could happen on this journey, and Garrett knew it.

          He reached the base of the Throat of the World by sundown of that day, having only stopped for a short time to eat some food. Seeing he was at the mountain, and satisfied, Garrett started a fire and set up his bedroll. He had no fear that Twister would leave him, as the horse was very loyal and cared for his master. As the fire crackled and meat was being roasted, Garrett looked up at the mountain. The Throat of the World was the tallest mountain in all of Skyrim, and it sure seemed imposing to Garrett. But he would not be daunted by this mountain, and was ready to climb its slopes to the Greybeards. 

           He ate his dinner, fed his horse, and crawled into his bedroll for the night. While bandits were a known threat in Skyrim, none of them were ever seen near the Throat of the World. The mountain held a sacred place in the hearts of everyone, even the lowlife bandits that plague the land. Knowing this is what allowed Garrett to sleep soundly, yet dreamlessly. When he awoke the next morning, he was ready for the trek.

          He did not mount Twister, knowing that one does not mount a horse to climb a mountain. Instead he led him by hand up the mountain, walking as fast as he could while towing a horse along with him. Thankfully, there were steps up the mountain, and markers where one could not see the stones. Garrett passed a few shrines along the way, to various gods, with various offerings in bowls. He left each of them in peace, moving along with the quest he was on. He still had a ways to go, and the afternoon sun blazed overhead.

          Eventually Garrett came to a part of the path where there was no more path, but instead a drop. There was nothing between him and the next marker, only air and the threat of death by falling. It was at this juncture that he had to send Twister back to Whiterun. While he was a brave horse, there was no way for him to finish the journey. Seeing the horse heading back down the path, Garrett quieted his mind. He remembered a word he had seen on a wall one time while hunting dragons. He did not know how he knew what the word meant, as it was written in a language he had never seen before, nor how he knew of its power. But all the same, he recalled the word and felt power within him, a strange power, surge through his body, collect in his larynx, and then be released into the wind.

          “ _ Wuld!” _

          As though a whirlwind had ferried him across the gap, Garrett was now standing on the other side of the cliff, when only a moment before he had been standing in front of a steep dropoff. Amazed the shout had worked, Garrett took a moment to recover his strength. He didn’t know what the cost of using that power was, and the feeling of energy being drained from his body was giving him an indicator of what the toll might be. If he did not learn how to control this power, he could very well kill himself.

          When he had recovered from the expenditure of the shout, he continued along the trail. The markers were scarce now, and there was snow falling from the sky, making it more difficult to see. The sun’s position, closer to the horizon now, was not helping his visibility. The howl of the wind filled his ears, making it so he could not even hear his own footsteps. He wasn’t feeling cold though, thanks to his Nord blood. Suddenly, he heard something else in the air. Something unpleasant.

_ RRAAAARGH!!! RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!! _

          A frost troll was running towards Garrett at a lumbering pace, giving him a few moments to prepare himself. He figured now was as good a time as any to test out his new battleaxe. When he took it in his hands, he felt the warmth in its handle, indicating the enchantment was holding true. Then, with no other option he could see, he charged towards the frost troll.

          The troll slashed his claws downward, and Garrett sidestepped accordingly, bringing the battleaxe up towards the creature. It sank its blade into the troll’s side, but the troll didn’t seem fazed or injured, only enraged, with a new-found desire for Garrett’s blood. It savagely swung its claws at Garrett, but found only air. Garrett then swung his battleaxe down, aiming for the beast’s skull. This troll was a tad cleverer than he had anticipated, and dodged the blow. Garrett kept his momentum by transferring the swing into a curved arc at the beast’s legs. The blade sunk into one leg, and the enchantment then came into play.

          The troll’s fur caught ablaze, the fire crawling from its leg up towards its body. This sent the troll into a frenzy, blindly swinging his arms in a panic. Garrett seized his opportunity to end the fight, and brought his axe head down upon the beast’s skull. The resounding  _ thrunk _ followed by nothing but the wind and the last few flames on the creature’s body signaled the end of this conflict. 

          The first thing that hit Garrett was the stench. Trolls by themselves smelled horrendous; dead ones even more so. The next feeling was the fatigue. He may be a battle-hardened warrior, and a slayer of dragons, but he still needed to catch his breath at least. When he was ready, and had had his fill of the reeking stink of death, he continued along the trail. He was making his way as fast as he could to the Greybeards’ sanctum, desperate to reach the building before the next sunrise. The sun began to set in the distance, alerting Garrett that he had little time before nightfall.

           He felt as though he was getting close when the sun finally sank into the horizon, and came to a wider area of the path. He stopped for a moment to rest, as the climb had exhausted him. Suddenly the air felt colder, and Garrett himself was chilled. He was instantly put on edge, as he didn’t get cold easily, and he certainly wasn’t feeling cold just moments before. Knowing what would soon come, he stood, shield and sword at the ready. He didn’t take up his battleaxe, as it wasn’t the right weapon for the creatures he would soon face. 

          Out of the air two frost-blue serpents floated towards him, their bodies slithering on the air. Around them was a cloud of vapor, condensed enough to see. He knew these two creatures would be cold to the touch. Legends spoke of them often, creatures that would waylay a traveler and freeze them to death. But those legends were spoken in other lands; in Skyrim, these tales were truth. The names of these two serpentine spirits carried a weight of dread; Ice Wraith. Some old people said seeing one was what killed you. Garrett knew he was wrong. It was their teeth. 

          He slashed his sword in a defensive manner, keeping the Ice Wraiths at bay. One of them lunged straight for him, causing him to raise up his shield to block. The other spirit went around and went for his legs, but biting them caused little impact on Garrett. The greaves were made of dwarven metal, some of the hardest known in Skyrim, and were enchanted to protect against ice-based attacks. The wraith recoiled and set about looking for a weak point in the warrior’s armor.

          Meanwhile, Garrett was kept busy with the other Ice Wraith. They weren’t the sturdiest of creatures, but they were evasive. Each of his slashes and swings was just shy of hitting his target. Finally, he had had enough. He sheathed his blade, and muttered a few words under his breath. A ball of flame burst to life in his hand. The warrior was about to use magic to do what his blades could not. He let loose a stream of fire from his hand, blasting the wraiths with magical fire. Their bodies were set aflame as they screamed in agony. They forgot about attacking Garrett in their mania, and he kept blasting them with fire. Soon their bodies were no more, and Garrett felt warmer knowing they were gone.

          Suddenly, he felt fatigued. He expended so much energy in the midst of the battle, and forgot to restrain himself. Had he not stopped when he did, he may have used up all his energy, and fallen unconscious right there on the mountain. If that had happened, it was very likely that Garrett would have died, either from the climate, starvation, or an attack from some beast. As it was, he continued his journey of 7,000 steps. 

          Finally he reached the end of his journey. The sun had yet to rise, but Garrett knew that it would be soon. A looming fortress stood in front of him, a torch blazing atop the central watchtower. Two banners fluttered in the wind, and there was an empty chest laying on an altar of sorts. Two staircases led up to the tower, made of stone. The firelight barely reached the ground, but it reflected off of the snow on the ground, so there was enough light to see. A lone man in a hood descended the stairs towards Garrett. His face was old, his voice gravely, his demeanor regal yet humble simultaneously. The hood over his face was simply decorated with silver against the gray fabric. Garrett knew this was one of the Greybeards, and that was when the man spoke.

          “Welcome to High Hrothgar, Dovahkiin.”

          That was when Garrett gave into his exhaustion.


End file.
